Читать книгу Small-Town Fireman - Allie Pleiter - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Karla wasn’t surprised when Dylan showed up at her counter Thursday morning. He wore a wide smile, so it was safe to say he felt the Coffee Catch experiment had gone as well as she did. “What’ll it be today, Captain?”

His eyes narrowed just a bit as his smile widened. “I have to say, that’s growing on me.” He wore a navy blue shirt that did splendid things with his tanned complexion, despite the fraying around the edges. The rugged attire definitely suited him, even if no one would ever call Dylan McDonald a clotheshorse.

“Oh, well—” she applied a mock scowl “—we can’t have that, now, can we?” Karla turned the crank to shoot a burst of steam through the espresso machine, clearing out the piping for whatever Dylan would get this morning. “I was thinking hazelnut this morning. Less sweet, but smooth.”

“Maybe a banana nut muffin to go with that?”

“Excellent choice.” As Karla began making the drink, it struck her how much she’d been looking forward to Dylan’s visit this morning. She was proud of her idea for the Coffee Catch, satisfied that it had worked out so well for everyone involved, including her. “So, who’s coming Tuesday?”

Dylan got a funny look on his face. “Nuns.”

“What?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Why is everyone so surprised that the sisters of Saint Cecilia’s want to go fishing?”

He had a point. “I guess I shouldn’t be. Lots of people like fishing, I suppose.”

She’d said that wrong; his expression perked right up, catching the disdain she’d neglected to hide from her voice. “But not you.”

Karla busied herself with the hazelnut syrup. “Well, no. It’s not my favorite.” As the words left her mouth, she realized just what she’d let herself in for. When she looked up from the mug she was filling, Dylan’s hands were planted on his hips.

“I’m going to have to take offense at that. Fishing is wonderful. This is Gordon Falls, after all. Fishing is practically our national pastime.”

She poured the steamed milk into the mug to mix with the fragrant coffee. “I don’t think a town can have a national pastime.”

“Don’t get technical. I know Karl fishes. You can’t tell me your grandpa never took you fishing.”

“Oh, he did. Lots of times. It was sort of fun when I was little.” Why hadn’t she had the sense not to get into this discussion with someone like Dylan?

“Then what made it not fun when you were bigger?”

There wasn’t a safe way to answer that. There were times when peaceful afternoons out on the river made for good memories. It was just that as she grew up, those long stretches out on the water too often ended up in tense arguments between her father and grandpa. “It wasn’t the fishing, so much as the fishermen.” She slid the steaming mug toward him and lifted the dome off the glass plate where the muffins sat piled.

Dylan caught the plural. “Obnoxious brother?”

“Oh, no, I’m an only child of an only child. Let’s just say Dad and Grandpa don’t always paddle their boats in the same direction.” That felt much kinder than the memories of arguments she’d tried hard to forget ever happened. Some of those trips were the first times she’d become aware of her difficult position between her father and grandfather. She loved them both, but most times they had such a difficult time loving each other. It was one of the reasons she’d consented to come out here when Grandpa needed help—leaving Dad and Grandpa alone with each other was always a dicey proposition.

“Oh.”

She was glad Dylan seemed to catch on to what she was saying. This wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to relay in any detail.

“Water isn’t always a peacemaker, is it?”

Funny thing was, it always had been for her. Even when the prospect of going out with Dad and Grandpa held the good chance of a fight, she went anyway. “I like the water. It’s why I like Chicago. Back home, I get out to Lake Michigan whenever I can.”

“The lake is nice, but I found it too big. Give me a river any day.”

She looked at him curiously. “You used to live in Chicago?”

Something flashed behind his eyes before he answered. Chicago was evidently a sore subject. She watched him measure out his words the same way she’d just done. “It wasn’t for me.” There was a long story behind that short answer.

“So you came here.”

Dylan took a sip of the coffee she’d made, nodding his approval. “Oh, I like this better than the last one. Maybe even better than the first one.” He glanced at her for a long moment. “I should have come here all along, but I let other people convince me of what I wanted.” Then he took another sip, a longer one, making Karla wonder if he was buying himself time to decide how much he was going to say. “Don’t ever do that.”

“I’ve got my own dreams clearly in sight.” She patted the Small Business Strategies textbook where it sat on the counter. The look in his eyes made her add, “And now it looks like you do, too. Captain of your own destiny, as Grandpa would say.” The “as if” expression on his face made her wonder if that was why he seemed pleased and annoyed at the “Captain” title. His fishing business meant much more than a paycheck to him, she could see that.

“I’ve poured everything into Gordon River Fishing Charters. It’s going to work out because I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work out.” He turned up one corner of his mouth in a half smile, half grimace before adding, “Even marketing.”

“I imagine you will,” she replied. The determination in his eyes made that easy to believe.

Dylan took another sip and then set down his mug. “Are you working Saturday morning?”

“No, my dad takes over on Saturday mornings.”

“Then that settles it. You’re going fishing.”

Karla let out a moan. “Don’t you have a charter or something? Boy Scout field trip?”

“As a matter of fact, this is my only free Saturday this month. I think you need to go fishing.”

“No, really—it’s not my thing.”

Dylan picked up the coffee mug again, hoisting it up in front of her face as if it were Exhibit A.

“You got three tries out of me. I think it’s only fair I get three hours out of you. Five-thirty to eight-thirty Saturday morning.”

“Five-thirty a.m.? You want me to get up at dawn on my day off?”

A playful grin crept across his face. “It’s not like you won’t have enough coffee.”

“There isn’t enough coffee in the world,” she complained, leaning against the counter. “Is the sun even up then?”

“Just barely. It’s the best time to be out on the river.” He pointed to the Commercial Baking recipe book open on the back counter behind her “Besides, anyone who wants to be a baker ought to be ready to rise before the sun, right?”

“Let’s see—” Karla looked up at the ceiling, squinting in mock consideration “—the smell of freshly baked bread greeting the sunrise, or the smell of fish? It’s such a tough choice.”

“Let’s see,” Dylan matched her tone, “standing in a cold, dark kitchen staring at an oven or the thrill of landing a prize fish in the glorious setting of a river at sunrise? It’s such a tough choice.”

“Hey, that sounds like marketing talk to me. What did you do before you came out here to launch your dream job?”

All the light left his handsome face. “I sat miserably doing nothing that really mattered.”

“Ouch. Sorry to bring it up.”

He ran a finger around the rim of the mug. “You couldn’t have known. Most of the world hasn’t caught on to the soul-killing nature of institutional cash-flow analysis.”

Karla stared at him. “Wait...you had a corporate job?” She tried to imagine Dylan in a suit and tie, but couldn’t.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” He looked up. There was so much going on behind his eyes. “I’d rather take you fishing.”

Her curiosity got the best of her. “Okay, three hours. I bring the coffee—you never bring the subject up again after Saturday. Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Dylan put his hand to the doorknob of the firehouse conference room Friday night like a man greeting his execution. Meetings. To his mind, there wasn’t anything more joy crushing than a committee meeting. His aversion to meetings had been solidified back at his former office job, and Dylan wasn’t in any hurry to build on it. If Chief Bradens hadn’t personally asked him to serve on the firehouse’s 150th Anniversary Committee, there wasn’t a soul in Gordon Falls who could have made him be here. No soul except Violet Sharpton. Dylan couldn’t rightly say if Bradens had sicced the feisty old woman on him, but Violet had nevertheless cornered him after Sunday services last week saying they “needed new brains in the room” and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Chief Bradens on his own was a force to be reckoned with, but when tag-teamed with Violet Sharpton? Well, Dylan was smart enough to know when he was licked.

Lord, I don’t mind telling you I’m in no mood for whatever lesson You have in store for me here. Death by committee isn’t the way I’d choose to go.

The rectangular meeting room table was all filled except for one seat: his. Normally a pretty prompt guy, Dylan just couldn’t bring himself to hustle to this meeting and as such was five minutes late. He’d happily have supported the firehouse’s 150th anniversary any other way, and planned to jump on any opportunity to escape into a more task-oriented role. If only that didn’t look like the slimmest of possibilities. Dylan was so absorbed in his exit strategy that he almost didn’t register the biggest surprise in the room: Karla Kennedy sat between Vi and her grandfather.

He caught her gaze as he settled into his seat. She wore the same “what are you doing here?” look he must be wearing. If Dylan couldn’t figure out why he was on this committee, he had even less of a clue why Karla was here. She wasn’t even a Gordon Falls resident, nor did she profess any desire to stay in town once Karl had recuperated. Not to mention that next to Clark Bradens—who was the youngest fire chief Gordon Falls had ever hired and by definition had to be here—Dylan and Karla were almost a decade younger than anyone else in the room. So he and Karla constituted Violet’s “new brains”?

He took a moment to survey his fellow committee members. Chief Bradens’s father and predecessor, George Bradens, was to his left. George was a friendly, caring guy—an honorary dad to half the department and a pillar in the Gordon Falls community. Next over sat Pastor Allen from the church. Dylan liked the man—he was compassionate without meddling and easy to talk to. Next to Allen sat Margot Thomas, the high school principal.

At the head of the table opposite Chief Bradens sat Ted Boston, the round, slightly self-aggrandizing man who’d been mayor of Gordon Falls for as long as anyone could remember. According to the chief, this town-wide celebration had been Boston’s idea. It made sense in some ways; the firehouse seemed to be the hub that held Gordon Falls together. It sat in the center of town in more ways than one, Chief liked to say. Next to Boston, Violet Sharpton sat smiling at Dylan, practically beaming in satisfaction. That couldn’t end well, and knowing Violet, there was more to it than met the eye. Dylan felt the weight of suspicion settle in his stomach like a rock.

The usual formalities of introductions and basic goals went by without incident. Another boring, ineffective meeting like the hundreds he’d endured in his former life. The firehouse was important to him; he knew he ought to participate. But as it was, Dylan ended up devoting more energy to trying not to look at Karla than he did mustering up some enthusiasm for the celebration.

“I’ll be honest, people,” Mayor Boston said as he leaned back in his chair, “the last thing this town needs is another potluck dinner. I want us to come up with something unique, something that will really pop. Something to put Gordon Falls on the map.”

It was one of Boston’s favorite phrases; he was always talking about ways to put this town “on the map.” Dylan thought Gordon Falls was holding its own rather nicely and didn’t need much help in the public relations department. It was part of the reason why he’d come here.

Blank faces met Boston’s challenge. If you needed new ideas, Dylan thought a bit sourly, why’d you ask the same old people who run everything else in town? The same old people except for Karla and me, that is. And why us? Dylan realized he wasn’t being fair in his criticism, but his good mood had left the room a while ago.

“That’s why I brought Karla,” Karl pronounced, as if reading his thoughts. “She’s a fountain of good ideas.” He looked right at Dylan when he said it. Karla went a bit pale and looked down at her hands.

Dylan had to admit, Karl wasn’t wrong there. “I have had a lot of success with the Coffee Catch she dreamed up,” he offered, if only to take the blanched expression from her features. “But, Karl, you’re bound to be fully on your feet long before July. Don’t you think we ought to let Karla get back to her business in Chicago?”

“It’s no good to rush these things,” Violet cut in, her voice pleasant but with a decided edge. “Let’s not go giving Karl any deadlines he can’t meet. I like to think Karla can help bring a visitor’s perspective. Besides, Karl can always help sitting down.”

Karl hurrumphed at Violet’s coddling. “Don’t you worry about me, Vi.”

“So, July is when you are planning on the event?” Karla piped up, obviously feeling the squeeze of being seated between Violet and her grandfather.

“The official anniversary date is July 15, but that’s a Sunday,” Chief Bradens answered. “Pastor Allen has already agreed that we’ll honor the firefighters in church that day, but we were hoping to have some kind of special event on the Saturday before.”

Karla looked as if that solved everything. “That’s Bastille Day.”

Befuddled expressions met her pronouncement. “What’s that got to do with the firehouse?”

“Well, nothing directly,” she replied, “but it does hand you an easy way to have a unique kind of celebration.”

Dylan had spent enough summers in Chicago to see where she was headed with this. “The Venetian Night boat parade.” It wasn’t a bad idea at all.

“What?” Violet’s smile was curious but a mile wide.

“Every July Chicago celebrates the weekend around Bastille Day with a boat parade,” Karla answered to the entire room. “People decorate their boats with lights and streamers and all kinds of things, and then they have a sort of parade out on the water at night. It’s beautiful.”

“We’ve never done anything like that before here,” Principal Thomas said. “It’d be an easy way to get all kinds of people from the community involved. Even the students.”

“It’s barely a month away—can we get it done in time?” Chief Bradens wondered aloud.

“I don’t see why not. We could let each boat pick a decade from the one hundred and fifty years the firehouse has been in existence,” Mayor Boston suggested as he looked up from taking furious notes.

“Or just let them use the color red. Or firemen in general. There are loads of ways to do this.” Karla’s entire expression had changed from suspicious boredom to genuine excitement. Until, that is, the moment when Mayor Boston turned to her with an authoritative gleam in his eye.

Oh, no. He knew that gleam. Chief Bradens had that gleam, too, and it only meant one thing. Poor Karla—she didn’t know what she’d just done, did she? Her next month was a goner—if she was even planning to stay that long.

“Miss Kennedy, I think you’ve hit on a grand idea,” the mayor said. “I think Gordon Falls will be in your debt after you’ve chaired such a marvelous celebration. And to think our young people will be the ones to spearhead this effort. It’s a most exciting thing.”

Dylan watched in sympathy as the shock registered on Karla’s face. “But wait...I...”

“Of course she’ll chair the thing,” Karl piped up before Karla could even finish her objection. “But hang on—we can’t expect her to do all this by herself.”

“No one’s asking her to,” Violet replied. Dylan’s gut dropped to the floor when Violet turned her sweetest gaze to him and said, “Ted said young people.”

Mayor Boston turned his head slowly to look straight at Dylan. “I most certainly did.”

“You don’t...” Dylan sputtered, feeling inevitability rise up and swallow him like a high tide. “I mean...” He felt the next four weeks slip through his fingers as though Violet had personally yanked them from his grasp.

“I’ll gladly free up Dylan’s time so he can chair the event. It’s a great idea.” The chief had the good sense to look pleased that he’d just dodged the chairmanship himself.

Before another ten minutes went by, subcommittees for decorations, food and publicity had been formed, and Dylan found himself approving a weekly Thursday meeting for the next month. His peaceful, autonomous life had just evaporated right before his very eyes. He was supposed to be building a business, not running a parade. Surely he and Karla could find some way to get themselves out of this before it went any further. Because even if it was June, this was Gordon Falls—and this town was very good at letting things snowball out of control.